Not Quite Right
by ThoseRandomTigers
Summary: DSF Revan: After being mindwiped and nearly killed, Revan is forced to pretend to be Wynna in order to get time to recover. Then she'll get her revenge. The only thing standing in her way is a debt and a doubt. But neither is destined to be long-lived.
1. Stuck on the Spire

**Darkfic. Revan is not puppy killing, crazily cackling evil. But she is certainly not light, either.  
>No Revan pairings planned.<br>FemRev.  
>AU. Revan's mind is scrambled but intact, with none of the memories erased. She pretends to be Wynna Eldorg for a period of time.<strong>

**I think the fic will have a summary of events and actually showing them in equal measure, at least at first. **

Wynna had not been quite conscious for a long time. But then again, that wasn't so unusual. She often mediated. But then she was aware. And now she was not, or at least had not been. Her mind was fogged and fuzzy, a cloud of thoughts and memories flashing across her mind with startling speed, in an untamed torrent that would drive many people insane. But Wynna was not most people. And she had never really been sane to begin with, anyways, or so she'd been told many times.

"Wynna Eldorg?" a voice asked, and after a moment Wynna lifted her head, when it was repeated, looking through bleary eyes before realizing that the voice was in fact referring to her. But it was not the automatic response of a name that she gave, she slowly realized.

"Here."

But the word tasted like a lie in her mouth, one she didn't quite understand, and she uneasily spit it out, a dozen responses in different languages lingering at the corner of her mind. Was it an alias? Probably, but it'd been a while since she'd used one… And where exactly was here, anyways? And what was her real name?

She looked for it in her mind, but the torrent of images and thoughts rushed at her again, and without the strength to put up a mental shield or filter it at all, she quietly slipped back into unconsciousness.

…

"Wynna Eldorg" was not stupid or naïve, whatever the Republic might think. There was too much missing from their reports of her on the holonet, her resume seeming much more like a list than what it actually was. And she could feel fleeting shadows that mingled with the much more distinct and vivid memories of something whenever she tried to remember the past, what had happened before, where she'd learned what she had, and sometimes there was no shadow of an origin.

The outpost was quickly deprived of headache medicine, as well as stimulants, until one garbled memory yielded up a mediation technique that aided the wild stampede of thought much better. Slowly, she managed to sort a lifetime of experience into manageable pieces, ones that stayed where they belonged and did not jump at her at every turn. She found a spot where security cameras didn't reach and quietly practiced exercises and mediation whenever she could get rid of the "helpful" staff that followed her at every turn of the way. She ignored the soreness. She'd had worse, albeit not much.

Then, after the exercises that the Republic provided were done, a nervous doctor reported an astonishing recovery time from the "mine incident". _Apparently_ she had been a smuggler who had evaded the law until one day she had set off some mines she'd meant for those who had been chasing after her, and then she'd needed expensive medical care. She had a debt to pay off and a choice between prison and being drafted into the Republic army.

She had almost considered going to the cell block, rather than giving them whatever they wanted, but in the end decided to dance to their tune for a little longer, to figure out what they wanted. Besides, she had a feeling there might be a little repeat incident, and she was in no shape to handle that. Her mind was just barely back in shape, and she still sometimes had memories flood her, making her just barely aware as she swayed on her feet and tried to handle the overload, though she rarely fainted now. If they ripped her mind open again, the results would not be appealing. They might even be permanent. And by they, she meant the Jedi. After all, the Sith were not so hospitable, even deceitfully so, and she doubted Malak had ever considered allying with the Republic.

All or nothing, he was. Alek was either with you all the way or fighting you with all his not inconsiderable might. That was why she'd never considered him betraying her, although he was a Sith. She should have known better. He'd taken to their teachings whole-heartedly. It was only a matter of time, especially when he couldn't learn a good deal of her Force techniques, too impatient and not strong enough in that way. His skills were in his brute strength and raw physical power, something she lacked. She was strong and skilled in the Force, amazingly so, but she'd taught him most of what she knew of lightsaber techniques already.

…

She was still trying desperately to unearth the memory of the encounter where she'd been so badly injured, but in the moments before the blackout it seemed she'd thrown some pretty powerful blocks of raw emotion, from betrayal and anger and hate to a cold acceptance and a mild satisfaction, throughout her mind. It was hard to tell what they were at or from. They were sprinkled everywhere, which kept everything from jumping at her at once, but were nearly impossible to remove, flooding her with the feelings anew when she tried. It got harder as she got closer to her near death, but her mind was recovering at about the same rate.

Those chunks of raw emotion, something they were unused to dealing with, were probably why the Jedi had done such a poor mind wipe. That and their lack of expertise. And the shields she'd placed before. Not to mention her incredible Force potential, a vortex of raw power her first Master, Kae, had described as looking into the heart of the force. And Kae had been very wise, most of the time. She'd seen a lot, been through a lot, and had the fading look of someone who had been a beauty in their prime. Not perfect, but no one was.

Not even herself, she reminded herself grimly, and returned to silently trying to unlock her mind once more. After she had the most recent events down, she'd look at her Force spells once more and reacquaint herself with them. Frustrating, but it was a small price to pay for being alive and mostly intact after nearly dying and going through a mind wipe.

…

That wasn't the only price she had to pay, though. She'd been half-dead when the Padawan Bastila, the Hope of the Republic, had poured her own power into Revan's body. Although Revan might have lived without the help, she also might have died, and so reserved judgment on the strong Force Bond prodding at the edges of her consciousness, besides setting up an extremely strong shield that negated it almost entirely. She didn't know why the girl had done it, pity or duty or instinct or guilt, and she wouldn't know until she found out exactly what had been happening when she'd been halfway to joining the Force.

…

Surprisingly or not, Bastila was on the very ship she had been sent to after signing the recruitment papers. She had not taken her eyes from Revan whenever she was in the same room, and Revan had done much the same. She didn't trust Bastila much, obviously, and her feelings on the matter of the Padawan were a hard wedged knot of confusion and a lingering resentment. Revan owed her something, at least, for saving her life. Bound with the feeling, something remnant of some culture's life debt, Revan reluctantly stayed. She would one day repay the debt, find out what was up, and then leave.

But where would she leave? To the Sith? Maybe, maybe not. Not immediately, certainly, with her fractured mind, atrophied body, lack of practically any supplies, and a much-resented debt. She didn't really know. Hopefully she would by the time she needed to leave.

She could also just become an actual smuggler, or a mercenary, stay out of sight until the war swung whichever way it did. Malak would likely win. He was a fool when it came to strategy. He'd probably bluntly try to overpower the Republic, and with her foundations he could. She quietly simmered on that thought, then returned to her work as a mechanic.

There wasn't very much translating to be done and she doubted they'd let her brood in her room. Luckily she could separate her mind from her body during the simple repair work, almost as easily as with intense mediation. She simply slipped into it. It was soothing, fixing the various droids and the ship itself. She became casually acquainted with a few people over a couple of days, though she didn't form attachments very easily. She was eerily true to her Jedi training that way.

…

After only a few days, the Endar Spire had to leave on an urgent mission of some sort. It was never made entirely clear where. In fact, Revan had suspected that they were just aimlessly wandering around. She went to her room to mediate and take a nice nap, seeing as there wasn't much work to be done. It was easier to simply slip away the emotions in her dreams, although she had a feeling that there was something alongside her, giving her another, just barely noticeable perspective on the fateful day.

…

Revan had woken from a nap, showing her where she had stood looking broodingly ominous in her mask and robes by the bridge window while the Padawan made her way to attempt to capture her. Bastila seemed oblivious to the fact it was a suicide mission, determined to bolster her companions and make Revan scared or unmotivated. It had utterly failed on Revan, of course. The girl was gifted, but not that gifted, and Revan had some very impressive mental shields when she was in full form.

Sadly, Revan had failed to block out Bastila's memories currently, including the emotions she felt towards her companions and the alien feeling of lingering doubt that was blocked out with a constant repetition of the Jedi Code. Her shields were not all they used to be. She really needed to work on that.

Trask, one of her acquaintances and her roommate, had come in and suggested that she get her stuff on and get out of here, to find and help Bastila during the attack that was shaking the ship. He'd seemed oblivious to her quiet sarcasm about Bastila being able to take care of herself, being a Jedi and all. Revan, or Wynna as Trask knew her by, doubted that Bastila really wanted a nursemaid like herself.

She'd stopped more than a few times along the way to pick at the bodies of the soldiers, and to discretely snatch the lightsabers of dead Jedi, light or dark, to look at later. You would be hard-pressed to have too much stuff, she always thought, despite Trask's urgency. Bastila was almost off the ship, as she could tell by subtly expanding her senses, and a commander named Carth, well known for his casual suspicion of just about everyone, regardless of what they said or did, had contacted them somewhere along the way to the Bridge. She knew the Force would not allow them to die very easily, having sensed its flow.

Besides, Malak would want Bastila alive if at all possible, and his commanders wouldn't let them blow up the ship with any Sith soldiers still inside.

Probably.

…

With that cheerful thought to go by, she quickly hacked a terminal to explode on some soldiers, feeling a familiar feeling of empowerment wash over her at their deaths before continuing. Bastila was not at the bridge, obviously, and they headed for the escape pods.

Bandon, Malak's new apprentice, was inside a door. Trask charged in to fight him and Revan watched him go without any real emotion. She wasn't sure if she should feel respectful of his sacrifice or just happy someone so stupid as to open it and just charge at a Dark Jedi was no longer part of the breeding pool. Deciding on both, she promptly pushed him back to the little abyss in her mind where she kept the dead and kept on going. She climbed into the escape pod quickly with Carth.

He was unfortunate enough to have one with a nonfunctional safety harness, but Revan wasn't quick to offer him her seat as they landed rather shakily, with using her Force powers to keep it relatively stable and in one piece as it smashed as a smoldering hunk of metal. He had a concussion, but she dragged him out to look for a nice hiding spot. She'd heal him if he lived. If not… Well, he'd died as he lived. With too much bravado and too little luck.

**Ta-da! This was very enjoyable to write. ^^**


	2. Getting through Taris Alive and Sane

**Chapter 1 : Taris (Upper City)**

**Or; Racist City, the condensed version**

**Voldy's pink teddy – I always intended to, but I suppose every story that is not a one-shot does.**

**BluEyedMalak - I always thought that someone so awesome as to turn the tide of a war and then slaughter a galaxy-wide Republic would be too awesome to just… Get wiped out. This is her as I imagined.**

**Anyways.**

**Again, Dark Side Female Revan. AU in that Revan's memories weren't erased very well. Mostly because I don't think the Council actually had the experience to do such a thing, particularly to this Revan, who is a Sith Lord/Jedi Counselor and most likely set up a bunch of blocks against any unwelcome visitors. She isn't at full power though, because being nearly killed and having a brainwashing attempt, however effective, are not something to be taken lightly. And also, I don't want to make up a bunch of characters where I could still keep the old ones.**

**If you think the description changed, you're right. I tried to fix it, so I got as much as I could out of 255 characters. I will probably continue to do so as the plot progresses, although I'll try to give you guys a heads-up. The character slots also changed, as Revan & Bastila makes it seem like a slash fic.**

Revan examined the pilot. Against all logic, he still lived, the Force or his willpower or something else keeping him clinging to the vestiges of life. Mustering some of her medical training, she examined his eyes, opening one and looking at the pupil, which did not respond. She laid her hands on him, letting her eyes flutter shut and instead feeling, first with her hands and then with the Force. She could feel the knot of anger and guilt, lodged within a vortex of Light. She focused on where it was disturbed, where his life drained away, and sensed the damage, a cracked skull and a damaged brain.

She considered just letting his life flow away from him, watching it leave or giving him a painless death. In her current condition, she could only heal the worst of the damage. He'd suffer from memory loss, or some sort of brain malfunction with the damage. He might not have if she had some specialized equipment, or if she had more than a flicker of connection to the Force, but it was not to be. It reminded her of her own accident, and she shivered again.

About to step away, to reach for the vibroblade, the Force nudged her, flowing in and filling her.

If she'd been walking she would have stumbled, and she blinked again, remembering him trying to help her to the escape pod, not just leaving in it. She saw flashes of a life not her own, a lovely woman with a rounded stomach, a boy with a sour face, the woman again, on the verge of death, the guilt she'd seen before, a face that she vaguely remembered from her own life, the emotions pouring through her system. Along with the memories came smells, a hint of perfume, the acrid smell of blood and burning metal, the heavy stench of alcohol. A _need_, burning like a fire. For vengeance, for a purpose. An empty life that had only two goals, their importance thinly balanced, with only the guilt weighing one higher than the other.

She gritted her teeth, pulled all the Force she had been given, and most of what she had, and started mending his wound.

…

Sometime later, Revan was utilizing every ounce of patience she had left to search the Force. She had nothing left to mend Carth with, and he was only halfway healed. She couldn't afford to let him die, not when it was made so obvious that the Force, for whatever reason, needed him. She was not in any sort of shape to ignore it.

Images buzzed beneath her mind, as she looked for healers for the pilot. She saw mere flashes of people at the present, going around on their daily business. Some flashes of kolto, but not many. She focused, using the experience born of sorting through her memories to look for _something. _She didn't know what she was looking for, but it was the Force's job, not hers.

Finally, a flash she almost missed, but she quickly grasped it and dragged it kicking back to her. A soldier, only barely alive and dressed in a Republic uniform, floating in a tank. Others floated nearby, in separate tanks. A kindly, worn looking old man was monitoring their vital signs. She opened her eyes after memorizing the feel of the scene, a direction encased in her mind.

Grabbing her vibroblade, she started walking.

…

Revan meditated quietly, focusing all her once immense power on a single lump of metal. Unfortunately, her power, while still immense in raw form, was busy reinforcing her slightly damaged body and _very_ damaged mind, and all the experience in the world would only go so far when most of her mind was off limits, and some of it wasn't even hers. She grumbled silently to herself and searched for the patience to calm herself down.

Unbidden, a fractured memory flew to her, one that both calmed and revolted her.

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

Letting out a low growl, she pushed the thought away, cursing the Jedi in her thoughts, and looked for the opposite code in the wasteland of her thoughts, as she had done so many times before and especially in these past months.

_Peace is a lie; There is only passion._

This seemed far more appropriate. Not what she wished was the truth, but it summed up this moment far more accurately than she'd have ever thought. Unless, of course, you replaced passion with chaos.

_Through passion I gain strength._

As she repeated the first part, the second drifted to her, an unexpected but welcome addition to her thoughts, helping to balance out the pink bantha in the room that was the Jedi Code, which she remembered entirely too clearly.

She tried to push, looking for the rest, dimly remembered _something_, a flash of anger and fear that was not her own and satisfaction, but however hard she focused, nothing more came to her. Growling to herself, this time out loud, she was only snapped out of her dangerously aggressive brooding by the metal lump hitting the floor with a metallic clank that seemed much louder than it was. She stared at it furtively, then gave in to her raging anger and grasped it, channeling the anger and frustration into heat, and strengthening her limbs.

This was much easier than the mediation, although short-lived, and she stared at the mangled lump with vicious satisfaction. The stupid Jedi code might have slumbered in her mind intact, but the Dark Side still ran through her like a wildfire. It was so much easier to channel, requiring little control and lots of emotion, both of which she possessed now, the opposite of what she'd once been.

She had had both sides of the Force before, in some measure, but now it was hard to say which was dominant. Smoothing it over into a nearly round, very smooth ball, she reluctantly shut off the flow of Dark, which was burning through her, and tossed it in the air, catching it with practiced ease. Her muscle memory was intact, though her muscles had atrophied a bit. She had to remember that. She couldn't be consumed by the Dark, or Light. Not until her mind was her own again.

However satisfying it would be to go around destroying Malak and the Council with her bare hands, she would probably not succeed and almost certainly die, if she didn't have another "accident".

She shivered, a chill creeping down her spine.

The reminder of the accident was like being dunked into a freezing spring, and she emerged with her typical cold personality, with the emotion all washed away for the moment.

She sighed again, and drifted back into quiet emptiness, where there was nothing but the Force and her own ravaged mind.

With only a metaphorical needle to mend millions of scraps of tattered memories, she did her best nonetheless. She would fix her mind if it was done with her last breath.

…

After a day or so of this meditation, she decided that she needed to go and figure out more about where they were at, where Bastila might be, and any obstacles that might stand in her path. Using a stealth generator, she walked unseen, eavesdropping for things that might be important.

"What were the Sith thinking, with their giant blockade! I've got a schedule to keep!"

"Did you hear about the new guards at the elevator to the Lower City? I don't see why they didn't do it before. There's nothing but swoop gangs and aliens down there. Good riddance."

"There's a lot of outworlders here, trapped by the blockade. I hope it lifts soon. Some of them look like they wouldn't blink twice if someone started a fight three meters from them. Not to mention the Sith."

"The cantina is boring, nowadays. The band is mediocre, and the dueling ring is static. The only thing good about it is the Pazaak. And the ladies, of course. Still, I'm not sure why I still go."

Other talk on the same subject repeated itself, all the way down. There was some more common gossip, but the majority of people were focused on the Sith occupation. Ducking into a corner, she powered down the stealth unit. Now that she knew what was going on, she walked over to the droid and asked it some questions. Mostly it just gave out basic information, but under questioning it directed her to a weapons shop and a cantina.

At the cantina, she looked around and bought a Pazaak deck from an old man. Playing a couple games with a nearby gambler, as well as purchasing some cards, she drifted off into the crowd with her winnings.

Stopping to examine the band room, a man with the sort of air you saw from someone who was trying to con you grabbed her wrist. She didn't respond to his gibbering about the band and how she could meet with it at first, except with narrowed eyes.

They made him nervous, but he didn't stop. She finally resorted to an old trick, taking hold of his pinkie and pushing it back, while holding his hand at the wrist. He jumped back with an exclamation of pain and shock, and she slipped back into the crowd.

To her surprise, this cantina also had a dueling ring. She watched a rather pathetic fight and then examined the room. In one corner a twitchy looking Rodian eyed everyone else with an air of excitement and superiority. On the other, a bunch of people who seemed to be the duelists were hanging around. She also noted and walked up to the Hutt in the room, as he obviously wasn't a duelist.

After a short talk, he signed her up to fight. The first fight she ripped through, it being extremely easy, and the second one as well, but the third one was difficult, and she stopped there. She doubted she'd get the fourth one. Pocketing what she'd won from the fights, she headed off to the weapons shop. Most of the stuff was confiscated, but Wynna got some nice armor and a few things to use on her vibroblade, along with some medpacks and a thermal detonator. Ducking out, she decided to try searching for Bastila, closing her eyes to aid in focusing.

Then she groaned. It seemed that she couldn't just find out that her charge (or the other way around, depending on who you asked) was hiding in some abandoned apartment like themselves. She was far down, and with a neural scrambler on. Wynna grinned at the irony, then frowned. She'd have to break her out. Bastila grabbed onto the bond as a focus, and Wynna watched as the Padawan became partially aware of her surroundings, getting a bad stench and a visual of a guard eying her through the bars of a cage.

It wasn't a force cage. So not the Sith, Wynna decided, pulling away and letting Bastila slip back into her comatose state. Something with less tech and money. But who? And where? Hopefully just the Lower City. She dimly remembered the Under City. Not a pretty place, swarming with rakghouls and the stench of despair.

Then she nodded again. There was hardly any electricity down there. Yep, Lower City scum had her.

'Now to get her out.'


End file.
